There were no open spots in the orchard parking lot so Kiko parked along the side of the road with the other latecomers. The orchard wasn’t far from Owen’s, hills covered with rows of apples out in the midst of farmland and hardwoods. The smell of apples permeated everything, and the barn was lit from outside with beams of light on the ground.
A good buzz was in the air when he entered, chatty adults taking advantage of the alcoholic cider, teens and young adults holding cups of the non-alcoholic stuff. Everything served had apples in it, and there were trays of apples for tasting and rating. Kiko snagged a cup of cider and took a drink, savoring the way the hot spices warmed him.
“Hey, Kiko,” said a voice and he turned. Kiko recognized the speaker as Clark Schnee, who ran the town newsp
